


Letters to May

by manciissuperior



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Death, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Music, Letters, M/M, Memories, Metaphors, Poetic, Sad Ending, Secret Relationship, Secret Santa, Suicide, Writing, kinda not to flex, mentioned mostly but yes, no beta we die like my brain while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manciissuperior/pseuds/manciissuperior
Summary: Wilbur wanted to be May - orange, warm and beautiful. Instead, he was November and unbelievably cold....before you continue, please consider looking at the following trigger warnings :eating disorders , even if only mentionedimplied suicide
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Letters to May

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flextapebandaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flextapebandaid/gifts).



> for the lovely noodle. merry christmas (even if im a little late) <3 
> 
> i would like to point out that this work is purely fiction and used it as some form of vent for my own feelings.  
> mature bc of the triggering parts. 
> 
> if you feel like you can't process or take it anymore; please, there are ways to get help!  
> eating disorder hotline: 800-931-2237  
> suicide international hotline: 1-800-273-8255

  
“I’m a king,” he yawns, darkness falling like a gentle veil to his eyes, which he only called his friend at the time. And he was a king, for by his hands was built the place which became His after he lost himself in its warmth. He was exiled - like a traitor, and if it hadn't hurt him enough - He had done it. Was he a traitor? Maybe. May. But his other confidence meant less to him than his - oh how much.  
"I'm a king" - what was he waiting for? Death? If it comes maybe. When it comes — everything that was then was the darkness of nothingness — everything became nothing, nothing became everything. Even pour the paint on the canvas on a breezy October, cold evening. He felt like he was outside Jupiter — and as a cold shower, he was exposed to sunlight seeping through his window, taking on various shapes with the line of his furniture.

There was a soft knock on the door made of pine, then another - and raised his head to these sounds. “Free” left his dry, purple lips and slowly, carefully opening a small gap in the said tree was made.  
"Hello."  
"Do you want something, Phil?" Wilbur tilted his head sideways, his eyes modestly scanning the other's figure.  
“I brought you a portion from dinner, you didn’t come downstairs...” he lifted the plate in his hand, following the example, and laid it on the table. “We don’t force you to do anything, you know that as well and despite all sorts of relationship problems - we’re all here for you. You can talk to any of us, Wil. ”  
"Thank you, it means a lot," he smiled at him. "It's not really needed - but it's still great to hear."  
“Mhm,” Phil nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. A faint sigh escaped Wilbur's lips — then another. He didn't know what to think of the other man's care - men's care - he hadn't received it so far, now why? They didn't know about them, they didn't know about Him - so why were they interested in him now? Why did they think it was right to ask 'How are you today?'. He had never been asked about this before - they were all just talking about themselves as if there was no one else besides them. It was always how Tommy was, it was always how Techno was, it was always how Phil was (even if they talked) - and it was never how Wilbur felt. And it hadn't bothered him until now, - because it was about his family - no matter how much he had contact with many of them as much as with another. He didn't bother, because he cared. He loved listening to their tales, their lovely jokes - that they were immersed in something - like water -. They didn't anymore.   
Did they sink?  
Did their ship find land? Wilbur didn't know the answer and oh how confused he was. He tried to find a solution to this in a thousand and a thousand ways - so many times that he couldn’t count on either hand and could never put a point at the end of the question. The armies of his question marks gathered and gathered until he was lost in them and became like them. Questionmark at the end of the sentence. Meaningless word set. A bunch of semidarkness. He didn't know why anyone cared about him because he was always the one who was interested in others and he was lost. In himself. In everything. In Nothing. He became the Nothing that closed nothing and no one - he was all that was blurred in everything. Like the linen paper flooded with water, on which the paint had just dried - like a cloudless sky in the evening a dim star, like… like He. Like his memories of Him, like the hard, quartz lid over his head - like Him. And he was bothered that he couldn't answer. Oh, how bothered.

* * *

  
He started writing - for him, to him, because of him. At first, he felt stupid — hell, he was trying to correspond with love to a dead man — but then in the end he didn't mind. He began to get used to it - that he could imagine an answer without an answer. He began to get used to the coldness of the ore's feather in his hand as he carved his feelings into a piece of paper. He began to get used to the fact that he was no more - his L’Manberg, He what he once was. Wasn't he the one before and honestly? He began to get used to the new self of his. The new self who was different than the old one. The new self who was Nothing. The new self who was Everything.  
Everything? Nothing.  
Nothing? Everything.

  
Nothing was every word he described, what he said, what he felt. And Everything was all he did.  
Nothing became his only partner in his dark mine, his one-man boat - it was the Everything. The Everything that no one else could get - the everything that was just his. Nobody else's. Nothing else's.

He loved to write - after he got used to it. He loved his letters, even if he never looked at them after they were written and just gathered.  
He loved them because they talked about Him. Because they were for Him. Because they spoke to Him — even if he could no longer speak as simply as before. Their relationship was never easy - but at any dawn, it would have come out for even two words. Even just to see Him for a minute - and he had nothing to see anymore. He missed correspondence when they had a hard time — he missed the other's scent. The junk perfume He just blew himself with for him - oh, he missed His. His hands, his lips, his neck - Everything. Nothing.   
Everything is Nothing, Nothing is Everything. And there was only Nothing left of Him - and Everything was left alone in the cold like a soaked pet at an autumn dawn. Like a buried flower in the depths of the forest — He was the one whose ship was stuck halfway and did not go any further. He was the one who eventually turned into the water — it evaporated and fell like ice, breaking on the asphalt. He never reached the mainland, survived the storms of the sea like a shipwreck — and became one of them.

... 

  
_“I swam towards the Sun to see if you were there instead - but how much I was wrong. I was looking for you as May, and you came back as a cold November. You were a peach, the last small part of a jigsaw puzzle. And you, you still turned into a cold winter instead of a hatch - colder than cold. I was looking for April, May, June in you - yet you became a colorless ink-chipped December that evaporated into a cloud-like a puddle._  
_Then I searched for you as a cloud - under clouds, above and between clouds because you were my favorite one. The Sun was sitting on your lips - and I didn't have to look for him anymore, it was with you, you were it._  
_I faintly scanned the reddish smile on your face, which was stronger than the light of the stars — which warmed the ground of my heart. You were my favorite star, beyond Jupiter - you were foggy, and yet you were cleaner than anything. God created even you as her most beautiful angel and it was you, the most beautiful brushstroke in our world painting. You."_

* * *

  
_"Honestly? I miss you. Lyingly? I miss you. No word describes how I have felt since then - on the sixteenth day of our month when you finally evaporated and your planet turned into another cluster of dust. Maybe - there could have been another way to your destiny. To our destiny. And it wasn't - and it won't be, because you're not here. You won't be here after that._

_…_

_Sometimes Phil asked about you - he knew who you were to me all the time. And he didn't despise it. Even if that would have been right — and yet he chose something else._  
_He doesn't ask about you anymore. He’s only asking about me - and I could only sing ode about you, whether I was a drama's faculty or a songbird on a March's morning. But I don't know who to sing to anymore, who to sing for. It's just me and Nothing. It is all I have, no matter how much they are here, the others. It's all about Nothing - and I'm talking to it. I write to it, I sing to it - I paint the feelings of my face for them. For it, I throw in the sink what lives in me. You. Nothing. Everything._  
_I become one with them in a satanic way - when I am no longer them. Are they me? Are they different? I don't know, honestly. I always refer to them differently - because I always feel different about them. Those who ended up staying with me, not like you. You."_

* * *

  
_“I get up a lot at dawn - like maybe you have a message waiting for me about our meeting… then I realize I can’t even put my foot in there. To my, my symphony - to what my hands have built. It's frankly a little sad. Not very much - it's sweetly little, but I feel bitter about it. Nowadays, everything is bitter. Salty. Sour. Like unsweetened tea - as if it hadn’t been seasoned before baking… So solid in color. Flat. Gray. None. Rainy. Boring. Sad._

_…_

_I'm sorry you're not here, I'm not here - we're not here. There. Everywhere and nowhere. I don't feel at home here. There. Nowhere. Anywhere._  
_You're not here - and there, there's nowhere to look for you. You have become Nothing - you have been or you will be and Nothing is you. You're Nothing either. You are Everything. You are You. ”_

* * *

"Wilbur."  
"Mhm…?" he tilted his head to the side and scanned the other with his gaze. He was cold - he was shaking a little, but He, He was more important than the heat.  
"I want to thank you for being with me-"  
“You have nothing to thank me for Schlatt. I love you. I'm here because of that."  
“But… Not everything is going too well these days - honestly, nothing is going too well. You are the only thing that keeps me intact - that keeps me awake. It's like you're a hidden, secret lantern that only I can see… do you understand? ” he sighed.  
“Not too well - but it’s okay. You always come up with nice words at times like this and that’s all that matters ”A soft smile spread across his face. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I'm glad you found me enough important to do so. "  
“You are more than the importance itself. You are Everything. You are You. ”

...

"What do you know about Nothing and Everything, Wil?"  
“What? What do you mean?"  
“Nothing and Everything - Everything and Nothing. Them. ” Wilbur shook his head so Schlatt opened his mouth again, “imagine that Nothing is everything and Everything is nothing. Nothing knows everything, it feels everything, it is Everything. Everything is nothing because everything suddenly becomes nothing, it itself is Nothing. They two are everything in this universe, but at the same time, they two are nothing. They know everything, they feel everything, and then eventually become nothing - there will be nothing, but everything will remain. Suppose the situation is a little more understandable - you are Everything and I am Nothing. You have everything we know, everything you don’t. There is nothing in me, but everything is in me at once because everything becomes nothing at once, ”he explained. "Interesting, right?"

…

"If you are my Everything and I am Nothing - we are the two. That is what cannot be described in words. Months? Maybe colors. Numbers. Things. Everything. Nothing."  
Schlatt nodded “you are May, Wil. Comfortable. Warm. Colorful. Beautiful."  
“You are orange soaked in summer sunlight Schlatt. Deep. Sharp. Otherworldly. You are simply more than the Sun. I'm just a lovely planet orbiting around you. ”  
“You are music like the words of the bird of April - or gods, Wilbur. Wilbur, You are You. ”  
"You are Everything. You are Nothing. You are you. ”

...

"I have to go soon. We don't have much time together. "  
"I know. I'm sorry."  
“Don’t apologize, Schlatt. We both knew this was going to be the end - how the end will be. We can't do anything else. Really, I don’t know if we could do anything else. ”  
For a few minutes, silence settled over them, which they finally broke at once, sighing.  
"I don't want it to end Wil."  
"Me neither. But is there nothing else we can do - can the end be different? Maybe."  
"Nom, it will be not. We both know that. ”  
“I can still hope - if it won’t be. Hope dies last. I hope we see each other again - so. I don't want to fight against you. "

…

"I love you, Wilbur."  
“I love you Schlatt. I'm sorry this has to happen. That, this is how our story would end. I want, oh how much I want it not to be this way, ”he sighed. He was cold. He was shaking. He was crying. It was cold.  
“I hope you can still see me here, Wil. I want you to, ”he smoothed the other's bony hand with his own. They were cold. They were shaking. They were crying.

It was cold.

* * *

  
_“I’m hangover - because of you, for you, to you. Just like your smile - it always made me feel like that, but you don't cause it anymore. It is not you. I'm drunk from Nothing, languid - hangover. I thought you were Everything and yet you were Nothing. You are Nothing and I can't find you. I'm looking for you. I was looking for you. I will look for you. Where are you? Where have you been? Where will you be?_

_…_

_It hurts. Hard. Cold ... It hurts._  
_Sometimes I beautify myself - see if you come back and see me. Maybe I can be beautiful for you. And you never come. Where are you?_

_…_

_My fingers reach deeper in my throat than ever before - maybe, I hid you in myself. I want to see if I can get you out of there, I want to see if I can be prettier and you could meet the beautiful me. I want to be beautiful. To you. Because of you. For you."_

* * *

  
"I'm cold."

It was cold. Icy. It's frosty. Havas. January. January? Light blue.  
Prism. Scarf. Heating water on the gas. He didn't know what he was feeling - what he was eating, what he was throwing out. He didn't know who he is. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know who he was going to be. He cold. He was shaking. He was crying. he was bleeding.  
Goosebumps. Reddish wound - scratching, biting, abrasion. Red. Purple. Green. Blue.

He was blue, he was green, he was purple — he was red, like a fresh wound on a set of epithelial tissues soaked with tears. A cavalcade of colors took place in him, on him - he was the cavalcade. He didn't feel anything. He didn't feel everything. Nothing and Everything left him alone. Nothing said nothing to him, Everything turned away. He was alone. He was cold. He was shaking. He was crying. He was bleeding.

He was a hangover. Drunk. Alcohol smoke soaked his stomach, lungs - kidneys, and face. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how it could have been better. He didn't know how he could have forgotten Him.  
Did he want to forget Him? Maybe. He didn't know either. He knew nothing - he couldn't find the answer to anything, just circling around like a bad earthly planet. It was as if he had lost something — as if he were no longer himself. And he wasn't. For a while.  
  
November - November. November took away his everything, Everything and Nothing. November was the dark, which did not want to let him go. He thought - he thought imagining January, feeling January would make it easier. But it wasn't it - he never wanted to be January.  
He wanted to become May. He wanted to feel May. Orange. Heat. Nice.  
He first began to be December - dark and blue like the depths of the ocean, with its thousands and thousands of minor secrets. But there was never any December left, constantly, rushing into each other like November with the gray nothing that was inside him. Because he cared. He didn't want there to be more than anything in it. He was Nothing. He wanted to be nothing, so he was.

A soft sigh escaped from his purple, frosty lips and he felt the goosebumps running across his feet from his spine to his forehead like a high-speed train with light as all its passengers. He felt every little tiny part of the universe, seeing the continuous opening of more and more boundaries take place before his eyes as if he had just crossed the gates of Heaven. He awoke to a new consciousness, as if he had bitten into the forbidden fruit of the Tree of knowledge, and not out, but could have set foot in the true Paradise.   
The Sun looked back at him like a lovely old friend, and the acacia flower blossomed in him, as if he were spring, as if he were the light. And maybe the Sun was just a mirage of his imagination — it smoothed his face like a gentle hand, like the care of a mother.  
The reddish line of its rails ended at the edge of the universe, breaking like a glass of wine on the patterned tile of the kitchen. To hand over his last trumpet, everything opened tiny doors to the darkness, which filled the space of Everyone who lived inside. Nothing became Everything, everything froze to Nothing — and it felt like harmony to rip through its blood, like a slow waterfall at the bottom of a mountain. A tiny little stream zigzagged from one eye to another — as if it had been served to each other like a ball, and a soft smile spread over his blushed cheeks. Wilbur returned home.

* * *

"What day is it today, dear?" he smoothed the softly wrinkled forehead of his love, finally stopping his hand on his face.  
"May sixteenth, my Everything."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. i hope you liked it (especially you noodle :) ). have an amazing day <3
> 
> used songs(that also you might like):  
> esti kornél - király vagyok  
> elefánt - kedvenc felhőmnek  
> elefánt - november


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